Let It Go
by Oneturtledove
Summary: She's balancing her fate upon a wire.


Disclaimer: Not mine

Spoilers: None. This is pretty friggin' vague.

A/N: I have never written something like this before, and I never will again. It all came pouring out the other night, on paper, out of a pencil, and when I typed it up, I changed very, very little about it. I think everyone can relate to the desperation from both sides in this one.

* * *

I failed.

I have never said that aloud before. I've never even thought it either. But today, yesterday, the whole duration of this case, I failed. I failed when I couldn't find more evidence to convict. I failed when I could come up with no other answers. I failed when the next child was taken. I failed when we found her body, assaulted, beaten, and almost unrecognizable. I failed when I broke the news to her mother and felt no sorrow.

But not feeling was pleasing, which is how I found myself at a bar I didn't know, in a town I couldn't name. He'd be mad and he might even worry, but as the whiskey cut a rugged trail of numbness down my throat, I couldn't be persuaded to care.

I wanted to just let go, throw caution to the wind and have a night I would spend days trying to remember and weeks trying to forget. I wanted to slide into a drunken stupor, and cease to think, just for once.

So I did. Shot after shot, I tossed my head back and swallowed the alcohol and the memories in large gulps of satisfaction. I knew I would regret it, but the more I drank, the less I cared.

I've never been much of a drinker; save for the occasional glass of wine, so the hard stuff took me fast. It was almost like spiraling down into oblivion and as much as I hated the loss of control, I loved the loss of concern. It was more freedom than I had had in years, and I kept drinking, throwing back a handful of peanuts when my stomach started to protest. I hadn't eaten in 24 hours, and hadn't slept in even more and I was suddenly hit with the stupidity of my actions. But tonight was not the night for thoughts like that, so I raised my hand for another drink.

I caught my reflection in the mirror across from the bar and I smiled. All I really saw was a frown, and I turned away, letting my feet dangle off the stool as I surveyed the room. It was like other bars- dirty, full of cigarette smoke and shady characters, in need of a paint job that the patrons would never notice. Everyone really is the same in the confines of a bar. Just a bunch of people looking for purpose or trying to hide, scared to death that someone will find out.

I saw the man approaching before I realized it, but I was still on balance enough to know what he was doing. It didn't take much, just a few cheap pick up lines and I found myself being led out to the dance floor. I'm ashamed to admit that I have no idea what my dance partner looked like. I felt his hands on me and was immediately uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to stop our drunken version of what could have slightly resembled dancing.

He was wasted, probably even worse than me; I could tell by his stumbling as he pulled me into a darker corner of the bar. I knew what was coming and I let it, not caring much as his unfamiliar lips crashed into mine. I'd only laid eyes on him moments before, and here I was making out with him like some college student on spring break. It felt good and exciting, but as his hands found my waist and he pressed me into the wall, it only felt wrong and shameful. I grunted and tried to push him away, which only made him more eager. His hands were under my shirt, running over my skin and I desperately wanted to get out of there. Being numb was one thing, but this was getting out of hand. I rammed my fist into his side and he backed away, letting me go, seeing that I was too much of a fight for what he wanted. I made my way out of the bar, dropping several bills on the counter before grabbing my jacket and bursting out the door. I was certain I had walked from the hotel, so I set out in the direction I vaguely remembered coming from. I stumbled a lot at first, but the fresh air gave me just enough sobriety that I could put one foot in front of the other.

So stupid. Getting drunk, accepting advances from a stranger, walking alone in a town I didn't know in the middle of the night. My stomach lurched again and I took a deep breath. Puking on the side of the road would only add to the slobbering drunk image I was already sporting. I kept walking until I saw the lights of the hotel, and I pulled my key from my coat pocket, simply to remind me what room I was in.

I tried to be quiet as I slid my key into the lock, not wanting to alert him that I'd been out. Adjoining rooms are convenient, but not private. In the last years we have come to desire the former, but tonight I cursed it.

If I could just get into bed without him knowing, I could fake cramps or a migraine in the morning and he'd never know.

"Where have you been?" he asked, standing in the shadows of the doorway.

"A walk," I replied.

"This late at night?"

His voice was concerned rather than accusatory and I suddenly realized what I'd done. Without a word, I turned and ran for the bathroom, getting embarrassingly sick almost before I reached the toilet. I was aware of him kneeling down next to me, one hand holding my hair, the other pressed to my forehead. I threw up until it was all gone and my heaves were dry and painful and I couldn't catch my breath.

"Oh sweetheart," he said softly, reaching up to wet a towel in the sink.

The truth was out now and I wanted to be sick again, but I didn't have the energy, so I let out a sob instead. He pulled me back against is chest, using the rag to wipe my face.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

I shook my head. I couldn't tell him of my failure, couldn't tell him of my way of dealing with it. I couldn't speak the words, even if he had just seen the evidence. I'd failed myself too, it seemed. Taken the easy way out, done the cliché thing. That wasn't me.

"You can tell me anything. You know that right?"

"Not this," I said, whimpering pathetically. "Never."

"Yes you can," he encouraged, and I knew the phrase that was coming next. "Anything always no matter what."

"No."

"It won't change anything."

"Stop. You don't know. You'll never know."

He pressed a kiss to my hair and held me for a long time. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream it out for everyone to hear, just to be rid of the feeling. But a bigger part of me was terrified that he would be disgusted or disappointed, and I couldn't deal with that now. I couldn't see the look on his face when he realized how badly I had failed.

"Nothing you could do would ever-"

"You don't know," I argued, trying to keep my voice steady. "Leave it alone."

"I can't leave it alone when whatever it is has caused you to end up drunk and sobbing in a hotel bathroom. This isn't you."

"Maybe you don't know me," I spat, struggling to stand up from the floor. He held me back, though I admit, it didn't take much effort on his part.

"I do know you. I know you better than you think. And this isn't you. Not in the weirdest alternate universe."

"Well I just did it, so maybe it is."

"Don't be stupid."

"Maybe I want to be stupid. Did you ever think of that?"

He sighed and shook his head against mine.

"I don't know what's going on with you."

"I don't either."

"You need water and sleep. Come on, up we go."

My feel slid out from under me on the linoleum, but he caught me before I went down.

"I threw up everything and I'm still drunk," I thought out loud as he helped me towards the bed. I crashed into it, almost bringing him down with me. Freudian slip, quite literally. Maybe I wanted him there.

"Whoa," he said, righting himself. "Contact inebriation."

"No such thing," I replied, my eyes trying desperately to close.

"We need to get you into pajamas."

"Heh. Pajamas."

"Okay, so we've hit another personality, the happy drunk."

He tossed a pair of pajama pants at me and I managed to get those switched while he found me a t-shirt. It took me a long time to get the buttons on my blouse undone and finally I just stared up at him. He sighed and slid the dark fabric over my shoulders, being very gentlemanly about it while he pulled the t-shirt on.

"Do you want to brush your teeth?"

I nodded and we made the trip to the bathroom and back in a few minutes.

"You're so drunk," he muttered, pulling the blanket up around my shoulders.

"I'm sorry."

"We'll discuss it later. Go to sleep."

"I don't want to be alone," I said, tugging on his shirt. He sighed and I could tell it wasn't easy to push my hand away.

"Please. Just lay here for a while."

He nodded and crawled over me, wrapping me in his arms. I took a deep breath as balance started to return.

"I don't know what's going on with you, Scully, but I'm here when you want to tell me."

I didn't argue this time, I was too tired. I just closed my eyes and let the feeling of his hand in my hair relax me to sleep.

* * *

I woke up hours later with a headache befitting of last nights escapades. I groaned, the sound ripping through my skull and making the pain worse. I wanted to throw up, but I couldn't seem to move.

"Hey, you're awake!" Mulder exclaimed, snapping the shades open.

"Die," I suggested, pulling the blanket over my head. He pulled it back and waved some disgusting smelling food under my nose.

"Come on, up and at 'em."

"No."

"Rehydration will cure this, but you need to eat too. Might as well enjoy the bright sunny morning while we're up."

"If you're trying to punish me or make me feel bad, it's working. I get it. I'm an idiot. Now can I please go back to sleep?"

"Water and aspirin first, then hangover food, and then you can sleep."

"Close the curtains please."

"Sit up and drink this."

He moved to close the shades and I grimaced at the glass he handed me. Tepid water because he knows how much I hate it.

"Mul-"

"Drink. Pill."

I obeyed, figuring I had no room to speak on what was best for me.

"Now, I brought you some classic hangover food, you tell me what you want. I've got a pancake breakfast, mac and cheese, some tacos and Top Ramen. What works for you?"

"Never had a hangover before," I admitted, not feeling the least bit regretful of that fact. I never wanted to feel like this ever again. It was worse than the chemo.

"Might I suggest the one-two punch of pancakes and Top Ramen then?"

"So gross."

"Trust me."

"No."

"Scully."

"I'll take the pancakes."

He handed me a Styrofoam take out box and a plastic fork and directed me to eat. I sighed and forced the food down, feeling slightly better, but not ready to move from the bed.

"So," he started, flopping down on the bed.

"So what?"

"Speak."

"I wasn't myself," I answered.

"Give me more than that."

"I just wanted… I don't know what I wanted. I guess I wasn't thinking. And yes, I do know how stupid it was, so you can skip that lecture."

"Scully, I'm more concerned with why you did what you did. What made you feel like getting drunk and just losing yourself?"

"I was already lost, Mulder," I admitted finally. "I was lost the moment I stopped feeling anything."

"So you wanted to make sure the feelings wouldn't come back at all?"

"Actually, I wanted to force myself to hit rock bottom."

"Why?"

"I've been dreading it for years. I just wanted to get it over with. I felt so close that it just made some kind of weird sense."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't. You have these expectations of me that I just can't always meet. You see me in a certain way and I just don't feel like I'm really that way. I needed to let it go, and while it was stupid, I didn't see another way."

"You didn't look very hard, did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"I've always been here and I always will be. Nothing you could do would change that."

"I know. But sometimes I forget. Sometimes I think I don't deserve it."

"You do, but whether you deserve it or not doesn't matter. You've got me, sweetheart. I don't go away."

Tears fell down my cheeks faster than he could wipe them away, and I all but crumpled into his side. He was warm and safe and I was suddenly flooded with emotion. Emotions of failure and loss, emotions of love and need. He held me for a long time, his body wrapped around mine, absorbing a lot of the pain and angst, at least for the moment.

"I love you."

The words were so simple, yet almost unknown to me. I didn't understand this kind of love. So unconditional, so pure, of choice rather than chance. I couldn't form words adequate enough to tell him that I felt the same. My love wasn't good enough to repay him for the love he's always shown me.

"I know what you're thinking, Scully. But you're wrong. All I need is for you to be happy and safe."

"I know."

"We both deserve that."

"Thank you."

"Now, you need a little more rest. I've got reports to type up and a meeting with the detectives."

"I should be there."

"More importantly, you should be taking care of yourself, fix what you did last night. And then we won't have to talk about it ever again, unless you want to."

I nodded in agreement and he left the room. I laid back and stared at the cracked ceiling, and all alone, I let myself cry and I let it all go.


End file.
